Music: A Cautionary Tale
by pickamix
Summary: They play my magic like musical instruments that they have no problem destroying, so long as they get the right note.


Once the Hellmouth was closed, I thought the worst was behind me. I've learned to never think that.

It started a long time ago, once the world could no longer turn a blind eye to the monsters and demons of the world. Remember that cataclysmic event where all the Slayers lost their strength in order to close the rip in time and space that threatened to suck not just this planet but the entire universe into some kind of hell or other? That's when it began. At first this seemed wonderful and evil lost more battles than it won after that. And then I started noticing that humans were killing off all demons … even the ones that were not only benevolent but good for the world.

Not long after that they went after witches. Finding ways to deflect the magic my brothers and sisters used to try and defend themselves, so they could take them prisoner. I thought they were taking them prisoner because they didn't want to kill human beings, but I was wrong.

It took them almost ten years to do it, but they got me too. I'm not sure how long I've been here … in this gilded cage. They dress me up, make me up, and chain me up, so that I can be the favor at their parties. And I now know what they really wanted, power hungry, spoiled, ignorant assholes.

Witches are kept by the rich and elite. They've found ways to tap into our magic to further their agendas. They have no regard for the pain this causes us witches or that they are going to run this world straight into hell if they keep it up. If I scream … they laugh; if I cry … they cackle with glee; if I pass out … I'm just thrown back into my cage. And when I try to warn them … they look at me blankly before beating me to a pulp for speaking. I can only speak with magic. They removed my tongue two weeks after capturing me.

I don't hear much, but I've heard that there have been at least two events that make Chernobyl look like a sneeze because people were playing in magics they don't know how to use and have no respect for. And yet this stops no one.

Looking in the mirror, while the servant girl does my make-up, I search for signs of aging and decay, praying to my goddess to let this hell be temporary and I'll escape when I die. It had been a hundred years since the Hellmouth in Sunnydale had crumbled, when they got me, so I doubt I'll see an end to this any time soon. As the most powerful witch in the world, I'm the most coveted of prizes, and I've been passed down from father to son once already.

Sometimes I wish I didn't give a damn about this world. I have enough power to destroy it all, and if I time it right they wouldn't be able to stop me. I smile at that thought. To destroy the world and be free. Be something other than an instrument that they bash and crash until something happens that they like. Freedom from this nonlife sounds so appealing.

More and more appealing each day.

I look out my window and see the orange of the sun … perhaps on the walk from my mystically fortified room to the ballroom where the only way my magic can be used is if it is torn from body, in the hall where the safe guards are weakest, perhaps I can make the sun become a red giant before scheduled and kill off all life on the planet as we know it. If I'm lucky the sun would consume the earth, if I'm not the Earth could potentially go on forever and I might just go along with it. Either way it would kill off the people … all the terrible people that rule and the pathetic people that despair.

For a moment, I wish I could ask the servant girl what she would do in my place. She's so thin that her eyes have sunken, and her hips and ribs protrude while the skin is dry and cracked and yellow. I'm not sure if the bruises are from malnourishment or beatings.

It has taken me this long to build a resource of power that is separate from them, from where they can get it. I feel that I must use it … today.

Then to my horror, the little girl dressing me up like a doll, says: "The Master wishes to spend this evening with you in your chambers."

There will be no hall … and no ending this wretched world … not tonight. Soon though. The next time. I can wait. I've got all the time in the world to wait.

* * *

This isn't anything new. My master has informed me that I'll be on loan this evening. The man coming has always wanted to fuck a witch and he'll be in shortly. I'd so rather be ending the world right now. Master comments that while it's a damn shame that I can't give head at least I can still bark.

"Bark for me, Frotch!"

I have no pride left, so I do.

He pets my head. "Good bitch. And there's nothing to worry about, I'll be right here and won't let him do anything I wouldn't do." That isn't any kind of relief. So far this master has branded me, broken my bones and let them heal wrong, whipped me until I passed out, thrown me into a pit where I had to kill to avoid torture, and cut off my right hand. My wrist still seeps blood through the bandages. And those are just to name a few things.

The door opens and a man comes in. I see his boots first, soft black leather. His pants are also leather, but wine colored. There are large platinum rings on his fingers. The jacket is a three-quarter length brocade. And just to prove he's rich, he's wearing a black raw silk shirt. Not even my master can afford silk. Finally my gaze makes it to his face, and I pray that master didn't catch the flash of recognition in my eyes. Spike. He has dark brown hair that's a little longer than I remember and the curls are unruly but make him look like a fantasy come true.

The last time I saw Spike was about fifty years before my capture. He and Illyria were off to try and find Angel. As far as I knew, the only vampire left 'alive' at that point was Spike. I had gifted him with a talisman shortly before he left. For the most part, he could pass for human. It simulated a heartbeat and body heat, let him be seen in mirrors, and made him immune to all the things that hurt vampires. I surgically implanted it in his abdomen so there was no way to lose it.

Before the door closes another person enters. Illyria is wearing the face of Fred and an outfit made out of leather and metal, the corset pulled so tight that it hurts to even look at it. Her hair is pulled back in leather and metal plaits giving the look of sharp bird plumes. I'm familiar with the style: junk punk, whose linage comes from the antiquated steam punk. It suits her.

Neither of them look at me. Spike goes over to my master and shakes his hand.

My master is exuberant, all smiles and manners. "What a pleasure it is to be able to afford you the opportunity to play with my pet witch, Frotch. I've given you all the ways to tap into her power, yes?"

Spike nods, "Mmm, yes." Now he's looking at me … did he just wink? With all his preternatural speed, Spike turns and catches master by the throat and squeezes enough to cut off speech. "Now you're going to tell me how to unbind her powers, or you'll live … eternally ... boxed. Scream and I'll make you _my pet_. Nod if you understand me."

The nod is vigorous and as soon as Spike let's go, master is spilling his guts. Illyria breaks my collar and helps me to my deformed feet. I can't wear shoes, but I've learned to walk despite what has been done to me.

As soon as I feel all my magic return to my command, I place my left hand on my former master's forehead, and do the only spell I can without speaking … and that's to force on him all the pain I've felt since being enslaved at once.

It takes a while but rather than spasming around like a fish out of water, he shrinks back from me right into Spike's chest. My savior's smile is smug. "What should I do with him, Willow?"

I answer him with my mind.

"Today's your lucky day, mate."

My former master let's out a relieved sigh and smiles, "Take her with my regards."

"That's awful big of you, I think I'll do that." Spike fixes the man's shirt collar and it looks like the man is going to say something, until Spike puts his grr face on and drains him, just like I asked him to. He lets the body drop to the floor and he gives me his most charming devil-may-care smile. "Fancy some new digs, love?"

I'm so overwhelmed that tears collect in the corners of my eyes. I haven't cried in a lifetime. But I'm hugging him and then Illyria speaks, "Is her tongue gone like the others?"

"I assume so, Blue."

"We should get her back to the stronghold. They'll teach her how to speak again." She grabs my fake hand and since it wasn't on very well because I'm still healing, it slides off my body and Illyria comes as close to compassion as she can get, "He deserved worse."

"I don't think Red fancied seeing his face ever again."

I nod in serious agreement.

This time Illyria tugs on my elbow and I hobble a few steps before she picks me up and slings me over her shoulder. "I would have spent a decade torturing him before letting his deformed body go out into the throngs of the wretched. Spoiled as he was, his lifespan would have been short and brutal. There has been no vengeance here."

* * *

It took a year and all the witches that Spike and Illyria had rescued, to fix some of my worst wounds. My bones have all been straightened out and the places where my skin had been marred, is now smooth.

I still have no tongue, and neither do any of the others, but like them I now have some flesh at the bottom of my mouth to help me along. They've taught me how to talk despite not having a moving tongue. It isn't perfect, but it's a lot better than what was. Most of us use a form of sign language though. It's a lot easier and clearer to communicate with our hands. And none of us get disgusted with each other for using our fingers to move food around in our mouths.

One of the witches here, Laurel, is a sliver smith and between her, and Devlin, who is adept at alchemy, and Lish, who is better at robotics than anyone I've ever met, I now have a fully working right hand. I can feel it and everything.

Over the centuries, I've become known as Mother Silver Touch.

There are so few of us mysticals and we tend to let the world crumble around us. All liveable areas in the world are that way because they exist inside domes that keep the radiation out. I think this area was once Northern Italy but don't hold me to that. The world has changed so much that it's difficult to tell what used to be what. Our stronghold has protected us for many decades. Spike, Illyria and I are the only ones that remember English and we still use it from time to time so that our conversations are private. They still call me Willow.

I'm playing with the children and at the same time teaching them that doing things without their powers is also fulfilling. I was never into sports, so I don't know how close I am to what it used to be like, but we're playing football. I'm the goalie for one side while Spike guards the net on the other side of the field. Between the two of us, we managed to put together a real game. The kids seem to be having fun at least.

Diving to prevent the other team from making a goal, I start to spasm. Visions of what's about to happen to the world flash behind my eyes. The poor children, oh goddess, the hell they'll go through. And there's no time to do anything to prevent this. The first shot has already been fired and the time to make a choice is here and slim.

I explode … taking the solar system with me.

Time loses meaning to me. I feel everyone that's ever existed on that little blue planet and we're spreading out into space. We'll form new planets and stars and solar systems and life. Life will go on like a symphony of particles dancing across the universe. This is the end.

Let's begin.


End file.
